


one-two-three... (give him back)

by vannral



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8463751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannral/pseuds/vannral
Summary: Alistair stays in the Fade. Cullen doesn't take the news well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *hides behind hands* I'm still trying to get their voices right! I'm still knee-deep in Dragon Age, and I love it so deeply, and I want to do it justice, buuut I don't know how well I managed. I'm trying, though! Please, bear with me and this story. Anyways, enjoy?

” _T – the Warden – Warden Alistair - ” the voice roars in his head, drowning in hot blood, ”h – he stayed in behind, in – in the Fade, so Inquisitor and Hawke could escape. He stayed behind.”_

Cullen can't feel anything.

Numbness spreads from his chest to his trembling arms, legs, into his stomach, leaving him gutted, absolutely _hollowed out._ _Scraped clean._ The bottom of his world has fallen out, sending him into a freefall, and he – he can't – it feels like suffocating, his lungs are _collapsing,_ air drains out of him in a violent rush, _a storm_ -

_He stayed behind._

_He **stayed behind.** _

No matter how many times that phrase repeats in Cullen's skull, it sounds just as raw, just as agonising as the first time, it hurts just like the first time, and Cullen feels like _choking, drowning in ice water, Alistair, you bloody idiot -_

It's all that left. That he is here, and Alistair _isn't._

Cullen doesn't know how he ended up _here_ from the War Council, he slumps against a wall, gasping air with ragged, _painful_ breaths, _that are nearing utter hyperventilation,_ his vision swims with tears, _Alistair, Alistair, Alistair -_

_He stayed behind._

_In the Fade._

Clenching his jaw, Cullen gives into his grief, into his pain.

He doesn't have any idea how long he stays there, but no one bothers him. Maybe they know. Maybe they don't. Maybe they have an idea what is – _was –_ between their Commander and the Warden.

Years, in the Chantry, in the training, friendship, blossomed and beautiful, tangible, _love and devotion, Andraste's mercy, Alistair, why -_

   ”Cullen.”

Cullen's head snaps up, and he feels exhausted. Lead-heavy. _Ancient._

It's Inquisitor Adaar; her face kind and understanding and _so impossibly sorry._ Maybe she knows, if no one else.

He wants to turn away, his grief and love private both of them, and she doesn't need to see Inquisition's Commander breaking apart from the seams, _because the love of his life is stuck in the Fade -_

But she raises her hand, gently. ”I'm so sorry”, she whispers. ”I'm so sorry.”

   ”Did you see it?” It comes out as a strangled, rough grunt.

   ”He was very brave.”

Of course he was. Cullen rubs his face. _Of course Alistair was brave._ There's no need to tell him that. But still – _still_ Cullen would rather have him here, than in the Fade, _dead and brave._

   ”Try to get some sleep”, she murmurs. ”Please.”

 _No,_ Cullen thinks, utterly exhausted, by the very bones and roots of his existence. _I don't think I ever will._

 

+

 

It all goes in a blur. It's better than _darkness;_ but Cullen can't feel anything. He feels like he's made of mechanical parts, _wheels and bolts,_ functioning, but like there's something terribly _wrong_ with him, _broken, splintered, damaged._

His face is haggard and pale; he misses all the looks – Varric looks very alarmed, Leliana tries to get him to eat, Josephine's delicate attempts to make him talk, _all fail,_ and he _doesn't care,_ he's a Commander, he needs to do _his job,_ _or he will lose the rest of his sanity_.

   ”Where's the Inquisitor?” he grunts, his voice gruff, _one-two-three days after IT,_ after they came back from the Fade without _him -_

Leliana tilts her head. ”She is scouting the remains of the Adamant fortress with the Chargers”, she replies neutrally. He wants to snarl at her, wants to _roar,_ _tear something loose,_ because she _knew_ Alistair, she _travelled with him,_ she _knows, and still there's no flicker of ANYTHING -_

But Leliana has always been different. Her mask is not a mask, but a hiding place, and she bleeds behind it just as painfully, cries just as bitterly, as he does right now.

   ”What does she think she'll find there?” He doesn't even want to know the answer. Doesn't want to know if they find a – a _body._

Leliana doesn't flinch. ”I don't know, she didn't see it fit to tell me”, she tells him.

   ” _You_ don't know?”

   ”She left _very_ abruptly.”

Cullen breathes deeply. His mind feels unfocused, blurred, _uneven._ He can't focus. The splitting migraine has returned. _(please Alistair)_

 

+

 

One-two-three-four- _five days after Adamant, after he's not here,_ Leliana bursts into his room and without a word, she drags him to the courtyard. Her grip is like steel, her jaw set and there's something like holy light sparking in her steady eyes.

He feels weak, _a corpse that she leads,_ and the crisp morning light, bone white and sharp, feels like glass shards in his eyes.

   ”Leliana, I _told_ you - ” he starts roughly, but someone screams -

   ” _They're here! They're here!”_

Cullen hears it, but doesn't really care enough to understand it. He scowls, dull ache returning to pound his temples. Adaar rides into Skyhold's courtyard with her ridiculous _Dracolisk,_ and there are some of the Chargers, Iron Bull, Cole and Solas, who looks very serene.

And another rider. Another rider, who wears _a Warden armor -_

Cullen's breath hitches, and suddenly he's gasping razor blades down his throat, and _this can't – he's hallucinating, he has to,_ there's no way this world grants miracles for _people like him -_

All the voices suck into a vacuum, into a void, and all Cullen can hear: _they're here -_

_but it can't be, no – please, don't be a trick, please don't be a trick -_

Leliana's hand on his shoulder is tight, digging into his bones.

   ”It's him, Cullen”, she whispers, and there's a slight catch in her voice. ”It's not a hallucination, it's not a dream.”

   ”But h – _how - ?”_

It's Alistair. Alistair, and he looks just as tired as Cullen feels; there are dark, exhausted circles around his lined eyes, but his whole face lights up when he sees Cullen.

And he grins. It's a shy, delighted, _happy_ grin, and it squeezes Cullen's chest; life surges back into his weary bones, and he can't – _because it's him. It's really, really him._

Cullen moves slowly toward him, and Alistair slides down his mount, turns, angles his head toward him, and smiles. It's so impossibly lovely and _alive -_

   ”Hi”, Alistair murmurs.

Cullen swallows. He lifts his trembling hand, brushes Alistair's cheek, half-terrified that he _disappears the moment he touches him,_ but Alistair doesn't flicker, doesn't fade away, he just leans against Cullen's palm, nuzzles the skin and looks at him under eyelashes, gorgeous and warm hazel.

   ”You're alive”, Cullen chokes, strangled.

   ”Yeah. Didn't look that good for a while, there”, Alistair nods, and there's tired heaviness around his features. ”Inquisitor managed to fish me out, don't ask me how, I have absolutely _no_ idea. Seriously, very unpleasant business, that, let's _not_ do it again, _ever.”_

And Cullen doesn't care they're in the middle of the courtyard, with _everyone_ staring, but Alistair is alive, blissfully, amazingly alive, and he's overwhelmed by crushing relief that he nearly buckles under it all, but he grasps Alistair by the back of his neck and presses his forehead against his. _It's real.  
_

   ”I thought you died”, he grunts, haggard.

   ”To be honest, I thought so too, for a while. I'm okay now”, Alistair murmurs, and they're just a breath away from each other's lips. ”Seriously. It was really creepy, though, not gonna deny... _that_. It was a huge demon. Like, _enormous._ ”

   ”I know, Inquisitor told me.”

Alistair's gaze drinks him in, and Cullen knows he's absolutely bare to him. Alistair sees, he always could, there's no reason to hide, not from him.

   ”I'm so sorry”, he mumbles, and there's pain bleeding into his voice. ”I'm so sorry, for making you suffer like this.”

Cullen doesn't deny it, just shakes his head. ”Doesn't matter, you are here now.”

And he kisses Alistair; it's a frantic, raw kiss, all of their longing, love, _relief_ pouring into it – they're both torn apart and tired, and _wounded_ by this separation, but they cling to each other, desperate to keep close.

They are dimly aware of Adaar and Iron Bull herding curious, _gawking_ people away, and Josephine very primly clearing her throat.

   ”May I suggest that Warden Alistair goes to see a healer?”

Alistair doesn't even look at her; his eyes are shining, so _happy,_ when he looks at Cullen. ”Nooo, I think I'm pretty _good_ right here.”

   ” _No_ , Alistair, _go see the healer”,_ Leliana's voice says sharply.

Alistair makes a face. ”Fine.” He turns to Cullen, whose thumb brushes gently against his cheek. Alistair's eyes flutter shut, and he relaxes, _melts_ into Cullen. ”Okay.”

He grabs Cullen's hand, squeezes it like it's a life-line and together, they head up to the stairs, toward the infirmary.

**Author's Note:**

> As always if you see any weird grammar mistakes, please tell me!  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
